In Another Life
by pennylanes
Summary: In every universe, we looked in the same direction. (A collection of AU drabbles set in varying eras, based on the 2012 movie)
1. The Flower Shop

**A/N: **Recently I've taken to creating photosets for different AU scenarios on my tumblr, mostly (completely, really) concerning Enjolras/Éponine. The feedback's been really positive for the most part, which makes me unbelievably grateful. I figured I'd ease back into writing and attach some drabbles to a select few, which is the basis for this collection. Each chapter will feature different drabbles - some modern-day, some from Hugo's era - to go along with the visuals.

* * *

_**I understood how all the flowers He has created are beautiful**_

Éponine works in the flower shop where, for the last month, a regular customer named Marius would come in and order a bouquet of roses to be delievered to his girlfriend every week; one for each year they've been together. Little does he know that the young florist has feelings for him, and it breaks her heart to see the adoration in his eyes for Cosette whenever he enters the shop. Right next door is the café where Enjolras works. He regularly takes his breaks at the same time as Éponine, and one afternoon she can't help but spill her heartaches to him. He's always been a good listener.

"He always sends roses, every time. It's not surprising, I suppose. Cosette herself is like a rose without thorns. I'm like a… wallflower, ignored and just _there_. Not even close to being anything like her."

* * *

The skies had finally cleared up from the April rain that morning. Éponine walked into the shop for her shift, greeting the owner who was in the corner straightening out the displays.

"A young man came in and placed an order a few hours ago. It's on the counter ready to go. Can you take care of it?"

Éponine sighed. Marius, no doubt. "Of course."

The older woman stilled in her task and watched her with knowing eyes and a faint smile.

The girl was expecting to take in the familiar sight of a dozen roses that she'd begrudgingly grown accustomed to as of late. But there were no roses; only a fresh array of garden flowers… violets and daisies, and _oh, it was beautiful._ She broke from her momentary reverie and knit her eyebrows as she came closer, the card in the bouquet catching her eye.

'_Éponine'_, it read.

She opened the card, her lips parting in surprise after reading it. She smiled soon after, feeling warmth spread through her entirety, right down to her fingertips.

_"If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose,  
spring would lose its loveliness."  
- E._

* * *

Full cover: _epjolras_ on tumblr (/post/41959134098)

* The beginning and ending quotes are from the autobiography of St. Thérèse de Lisieux entitled _'Story of a Soul'_.


	2. Red

_**Red, the colour of desire**_

Joly's mistress drops by the café, but the Amis are in the middle of a rather vigorous meeting. Bored out of her wits and looking to pass the time, she enlists herself to give the only other girl there, Éponine, a much-needed (in her opinion) makeover. She knows the Amis are fond of the girl and wants to use this time to get to know her. Éponine gives up after much hesitation and lets her have her way. Always one to take pride in whatever she does, Musichetta insists on holding her big reveal hours later right at the café, much to Éponine's chagrin.

* * *

"Musichetta, are you sure about this corset?" Éponine questioned as they ascended the stairs, twisting her body in an attempt to get comfortable. "I look ridiculous."

"The eyes of every one of those boys will be on you, dear, just wait and see," the blonde said pointedly, reaching the doorway and turning to give Éponine a final once-over.

Musichetta cleared her throat to get the attention of the handful of young revolutionaries that remained after hours. She stepped aside to reveal her handiwork.

Éponine didn't dare look up, fixing her eyes downwards to scrutinize a particular scuffmark on the grimy café floor. She tugged on the skirt self-consciously.

Joly was the first to speak up. "Well, be still, my heart," he exclaimed, admiring his lover's efforts. "Éponine, you look lovely."

There were murmurs of stunned agreement that made her look up in surprise. She didn't know what to say. She was sure the blush on her cheeks almost matched her dress.

"Red does suit you," Combeferre added, smiling kindly and subtly pinching Courfeyrac's arm to pick his jaw up off the floor.

Éponine couldn't help the smile that graced her lips. She wasn't used to being complimented on her appearance, but it was flattering all the same. "Merci, messieurs," she said.

"You know, red is Enjolras' favourite colour," Grantaire quipped with a smirk upon seeing their usually stoic leader staring at the young lady with a strange and foreign look on his face.

Enjolras sent a glare his friend's way after managing to tear his eyes away from Éponine. He said nothing, scowling and going back to continue what he was doing before the girls came in.

He really did like red, though. Maybe more now than before.

* * *

Full cover: _epjolras_ on tumblr (/post/42035849220)


	3. I Dare You

_**I Dare You**_

* * *

"Go kiss the bartender," Grantaire grinned before tipping his drink back.

"I fucking will _not_," Enjolras replied indignantly. Without thinking, he peeked over his shoulder at the rather attractive brunette behind the counter._Well, maybe I could_. Was his head supposed to hurt this much? Everything in his peripheral was spinning and he didn't like it.

"It's either you do that, or we go to the strip club down the street and buy you a 3-for-1 lap dance," Courfeyrac replied mischievously. "You only turn 25 once, my friend."

"I hate you all," he huffed, getting up in spite of himself. They're lucky he wasn't quite in his right state of mind, otherwise…

He blinked and suddenly found himself standing in front of the now-familiar bartender.

"You alright there, birthday boy?" She smiled cheekily, folding her arms and leaning forward on the counter. "I have to say, your friends are quite the bunch. I haven't been this entertained in a while."

"Yes, they're _something_, aren't they?" He grumbled trying to regain at least some of his bearings. "Can you please stop moving?"

"I'm not," she chuckled, amusedly. "What can I do you for?"

"Just… humour me for a second, alright?" He told her before hooking his hand behind her neck and pulling her lips to his.

Whoops of drunken glee could be heard from the corner of the modestly-sized establishment.

She let out a small sound of surprise, which immediately died on her lips as he opened his mouth. But just as soon as she could properly kiss him back, he pulled away.

He gave her a grimace. "Sorry about that," he murmured before turning to walk away.

He turned and walked the length of the bar back towards his friends, feeling a bit more sober than before. He touched his finger to his bottom lip, feeling the ever-present tingle that still remained there.

He wasn't aware of the eyes that were fixed on his retreating back as the young bartender tugged on her lip with her teeth, smiling.

_"__Wow."_

* * *

_Full cover: __epjolras_ on tumblr (/post/43167462606)


	4. How Strange It Is

_**Something like a memory**_

* * *

For months, Edrian has been having dreams — no, _nightmares_ — of the same thing, over and over. Each time, he sees himself, but he's not really_himself_. There are people running, screaming, dying… shots ring and bullets fly everywhere. The men are yelling at him, crying for help; they call him a strange name. Enjolras, is it? He always sees a girl. She's dressed in boy's clothing, though her sharp but delicate facial features give her away. To his horror, the girl always dies; a gunshot right to her torso. It's so vivid that it takes a few minutes for his heart to slow down to its normal pace when he wakes up in a cold sweat. All he had done was watch — he never stopped her. Never saved her. The man cradling her in his arms had called her name. It was just as, if not more strange, than his. Who was she? And why was she always there?

One night, he goes out. Maybe a stroll and a quick trip to the lounge bar around the corner will help ease his night terrors. Upon his arrival, he bumps into a woman — literally. As he looks up to apologize, he feels his entire body go rigid. He could swear that she's the girl that haunts his dreams. He sputters out an apology and can't help the next words that come out of his mouth.

"I feel like I know you from somewhere."

She gives him an odd, amused look and thinks he's hitting on her. But he really just wants an explanation, a sign of recognition from her. His hopes are dashed when she informs him that her name is Emilie and that she works at the bar; she just moved to the city and doesn't know anyone. _But, her face…_

Next thing he knows, she's gone.

There had to be a reason that she just showed up out of nowhere. A reason why he bumped into her of all people in the midst of his endless nightmares. He feels somehow responsible for this girl… He couldn't save her then, but maybe now…

He goes to the lounge bar a every other night after that, arguing with himself each time. Should he attempt to talk to her again? No. He's crazy, he knows he is. And he's sure she thinks he is, too. Then what's the harm in bringing it up one more time? He _has_ to know if all of it means anything, or if the universe just thought it amusing to mess with his head.

So the next time he sees her a week later — not at the bar but on her way home… he wasn't following her (not really) — he doesn't waste any time. She, on the other hand, seems exasperated with his presence. She's going on about something or other and starts walking away. She's pushing past him and he's not listening when he interrupts her.

"_Eponine_." He doesn't even know if she heard him.

He watches as she freezes in her tracks, turning back around slowly with wide eyes.

_"…__How do you know that name?"_

* * *

___Full accompanying gif set: __epjolras_ on tumblr (/post/43784216844)

A/N: Since I've posted this on tumblr, I've gotten a lot of messages ask if I could turn this one into a full fic. I'm definitely going ahead with that. :) However, it's still in the planning stages, so hopefully in the next few weeks I'll have the first chapter up.


	5. You Don't Want to Watch Me Die

**_Just came to say goodbye, love_**

* * *

She hears him and Combeferre talking… no, they're arguing; the walls are thinner than they give them credit for. His efforts at the riots have changed him, and gone is the leader that rallied everyone together. It seemed like lifetimes ago in Éponine's mind, even though it's only been less than a week. She perks up curiously as she hears her name.

He knows that she's getting worse. So why does it sound like he wants to leave? Is he that much of a coward? Is she that worthless and disposable to him? _'What happened to you, Enjolras?'_ He's becoming lifeless. He's almost…

Almost as bad as herself. She can feel herself deteriorating each day but she wants desperately for him to understand that she's strong enough for the both of them. He's the reason she keeps pushing to be better. He's the reason she's even still alive right now. They can get through this_together_, if he's willing.

She hears the two men approaching the door but she can't find it in her to move, even as it opens. She doesn't want to. She's determined to stand her ground. But then she sees him… really sees him.

"How long have you been standing there?" He asks quietly.

She gives him a crooked grin that doesn't reach her eyes. "Long enough."

He just stares at her, his gaze flicking over her entire body as if he's trying to commit every inch of her to memory. At the same time, she knows he wasn't expecting her to ever talk to him again, and for once he's speechless. So she stands a little taller, not wanting to look desperate as she opens her mouth to speak.

_'__Don't stop fighting for me. For us. I need you,'_ is what she wants to say. But who is she kidding? She really just wants to grab him and shake him back to his senses. _'I love you, I love you, I love you.'_

But before she can utter any words, he's moving past her towards the stairs and probably out of her life for good.

In that moment, she understands. She doesn't want to understand— she's always been quite selfish, but she could see how much pain he was in, seeing everything he worked for fail… seeing _her_ like this. After all, it was for people like her that he was fighting for— no, _had fought_ for.

"I get it," she blurts out. He stops in his tracks and turns. She nods, hoping it at least reassures him. Because it does nothing for her. "I just came to say goodbye."

She swallows and curses herself at how shakily the words come out.

He watches her intently and the tears welling in his eyes make her think for a split second that he's going to stay. But then his jaw sets like it does when he's determined, and he turns away from her again. She could swear she heard him choke out a soft sob. She trails after him at a distance until he's out of the building.

She runs back to her apartment after what seems like hours, slamming the door behind her. She slumps down against the wood and her head is pounding, and the desire to give up is more prominent than ever.

_'__He won't leave me. He can't.'_

A beat later, she's renewed by a desperate bout of hope.

She gets to her feet and runs across the dingy room to the window. Her hands are reaching out desperately as if she could grab him and pull him back to her. She feels nothing but cold glass against her palms and an emptiness inside her body. She watches his car drive off and she's back on the ground, letting out the sob that she's been holding in. That's it. He's gone.

What's left of her life to fight for if he's not there?

* * *

Full cover: _epjolras_ on tumblr (/post/44441126461)

A/N: Based on "Goodbye Love" from RENT (request)


	6. There's a World I Know

**_I'm gonna leave my body, moving up to higher ground_**

* * *

He survived after eight gunshots (son of steel, they call him now), therefore she's capable of surviving from one. It's strange, though, how his friends tell him time and time again that she's not coming back. That she didn't make it through the riots all those weeks ago. She was the first to fall that day, taking the most impact before the crowds managed to thin out.

"She's gone, Enjolras. 'Ponine is a daughter of air. It's time to let go." Jehan's words sound almost poetic, something he manages to always do.

But if she's gone, then why has he been seeing her and talking to her every night?

"I'm right here, aren't I?" She laughs after he tells her what his friends are saying, perched on his sofa chair in the darkness of his bedroom.

"Yes, I can see you," he assures her. And himself, he thinks. "They keep telling me you're dead, but I can see you."

He tells himself over and over that she's alive and well. Because if she's dead, that means he's killed her. The whole thing was his plan, his work that led to everything.

He wasn't a killer.

_'__I'm not a killer.'_

He looks in her direction, eyes almost desperate. "It's really you, right, Éponine?"

She gives him a dimpled smile and he takes that as a good sign.

—-

He shouldn't be here; he doesn't need it. He's not crazy. But at least he has Éponine to keep him company.

—-

"Enjolras, mon ami," Combeferre starts slowly, folding his hands on the stark white table between them. It matches his own current attire, he notices. "Éponine is… she's dead. You were there when it happened, remember?"

He narrows his eyes. He doesn't like being spoken to like a child. And Éponine was not dead. He's been talking to her for weeks.

"I assure you, she survived the riots, just like you and I."

He's quite taken aback by the frustrated look on his friend's face; usually Combeferre is as level-headed as he is. "Then why are you stuck here and I'm not? Why haven't any of us been able to talk to her, only you?"

"Sir, please." The familiar warning voice comes from just behind Enjolras.

Enjolras turns back to look at the orderly, his face indifferent — still as much the marble statue as before. "I think I'd like to go back now."

He stands and lets the uniformed man escort him back to his room, leaving Combeferre with a brief nod.

—-

"I like where I am now. And I think you would, too. There's no rain, only sun. Remember how it was raining that day?"

She's leaning against the far wall of the tiny bare room.

"It mixed with your blood. There was so much of it…" Whether he's referring to rain or blood, he isn't sure.

"Come with me. I can take you away from here, you'll be free. It's a new France, the one you've been fighting for." She reaches out to take his hand; her touch is soft and cool, like she's barely there. But he follows her, because he likes the way she's talking in that moment.

He's only taken a few steps before she stops and points with her free hand. He looks and sees something glinting between his mattress and the frame.

"What is that…?" He asks curiously, walking towards it.

"A key," she giggles mischievously, dropping his hand to cover the sound. "You know, to get out."

He bends and grips it between his fingers, but he lets out a hiss and pulls his hand back. It's sharp. He gazes back to Éponine, who meets him with that smile of hers. A… _key?_ Surely she meant that figuratively, as this is definitely not a key.

"I'll wait for you." Her voice is fading, as it does sometimes, tucking away into that particular spot in his body and mind.

He turns his attention back to the item lodged in his bed and this time wedges it out gently. He holds it flat between his fingers delicately. For some reason it feels familiar, forbidden. He slumps against a wall and curls into himself, raising his hands to level with his eyes.

He watches his own hand trace gently over the other with the metal object, leaving nothing more than a white line.

He's stuck in subconsciousness and barely feels more than a prick as he reaches his wrist and presses down harder against his skin.

—-

He watches the blood drip down onto the too white floor, gathering in a puddle, darkening as each drop joins the next. He lets out an amused chuckle through his gritted teeth.

_Red, then black._

—-

When he comes to, it's red everywhere.

"Dr Joly, please, perhaps it best you leave this to us," Enjolras hears someone say over the mess of scrambling feet and voices around him.

For a second, he opens his eyes to meet Joly's, who is frozen in the doorway and looks like he's torn between fainting and running away. _'Yes, Joly. Run and tell Combeferre how wrong he was. Éponine is here, and she's taking me to a new world; a new France.'_

"Vive la France," he mutters, throwing his bloodied fist in the air. Immediately his arms are being pinned down to his sides. He can't wait for this new France, where he will no longer be constrained like this.

_'__Free.'_

He feels a needle being stuck into his arm, and Éponine's face is the last thing he sees behind his eyelids before slipping into the all too familiar blackness.

* * *

Full cover: _epjolras_ on tumblr _(/post/44986566405)_

A/N: Inspired by Next to Normal. Collab with tumblr user _tveits-enjolras_, who did the gorgeous graphics. :)


End file.
